


Right Between the Ears

by Bdoing, mademoisellePlume, Vinnocent



Series: Heroes and Wolves [10]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gore, M/M, Past Character Death, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1985262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bdoing/pseuds/Bdoing, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mademoisellePlume/pseuds/mademoisellePlume, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinnocent/pseuds/Vinnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone goes home from the Glen Capri while Tyler heads out to it. It's left to Scott to break the bad news to Melissa. Later, he and Allison investigate the events at Los Siete Santos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Between the Ears

It was a long, silent ride home filled with occasional glares from Finstock, who was angry about the wolfsbane-loaded whistle that Lydia had tossed out of the bus window, and disgusted and confused glances from the rest of the team toward Scott, who still kind of smelled like gasoline. Allison had called her father to go pick up her car, which had run out of gas. Mostly, though, the girls just didn’t want to get separated from the larger group again. Erica, for one, refused to let go of Boyd’s hand.

Ethan and Aiden sat in utter silence, occasionally arguing with each other through significant glances. Scott caught the occasional confused and hurt glance from Danny toward Ethan as no one could or would explain to Danny why Ethan had bailed and never returned last night.

They were about an hour out from school when Allison’s head suddenly jerked up, looking out the window. “I think that was Tyler’s SUV,” she said.

“You think he went to tow your car?” asked Lydia.

“Maybe…” she said, but she was chewing on her lip.

“What’s with the worried look?” Erica sneered. “I thought you said he wasn’t bad.”

“I said we didn’t know anything about him,” Allison said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat against Lydia. “That’s not the same thing.”

Isaac sat on his own across from Erica and Boyd and didn’t look at or speak to Scott once the entire trip. In fact, he hadn’t said much since Cassie left. The last thing he’d said was agreeing with Boyd that it was definitely the Air Force that Cassie had gone with, which corresponded with the fact that they were concerned about something “landing,” and that no, there was no way to guess from those things alone what was going on.

When they reached the school, Isaac seemed to hesitate by the bus. Scott turned back to him when he realized he wasn’t following. “Come on,” he said. “Stiles will drive us back.”

Isaac clutched his bag.

“Isaac?” Scott asked. “You okay? Did you get a ride with someone else?” Then, barely suppressing a hurt tone, “Are you staying with someone else?”

Isaac glanced at him. Scott wasn’t sure how to read his expression. “No,” he said at last, moving forward to follow Scott.

He was as silent on the way to the McCall house as he had been on the bus, and he spent the entire time texting while Stiles rambled endlessly about theories on everything and whether Scott wanted to keep looking into Los Siete Santos. Scott confessed that he didn’t know, and he really didn’t want to think about it right now.

The first thing Scott did when he got home was shower. He didn’t know when Melissa would get home, and he did _not_ want to have to tell her that he’d almost purposefully set himself on fire. An angry scream had him running out of the shower only a few minutes later, grabbing a pair of sweatpants on the way.

As he pulled them on in the hall, he heard a crash. He raced down the stairs so fast that his wet feet slid on the hardwood steps and he fell on his ass. “OW!”

Melissa spun toward him, surprised. “Scott! Wh-- Are you okay?” she asked.

“Oh my god, Mom! Am _I_ okay?” he demanded. “What happened in here?” He descended the rest of the stairs and looked down at the broken vase on the floor. Okay, at least it was one she didn’t like, but… how?

“I’m sorry,” Isaac apologized from the furthest corner of the couch, where he’d coiled himself up. “I’m sorry, she asked, and… and…”

Melissa took a deep steadying breath. “I’m sorry I alarmed you boys, I’m just…” She was shaking. “I’m just… I’m so _fucking_ pissed!”

Scott glanced again at Isaac, who was watching both of them with wide eyes. He nodded toward the stairs, and Isaac immediately fled to the guest room. Scott took his mother’s hands in his. “Mom, what happened to the vase?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I was just so…”

“You broke it?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” Scott said, nodding. “Okay, I get that you’re mad about Cassie. I mean… I wasn’t expecting that, but I get it…” He glanced back up the stairs. “But Mom, you can’t scream and throw things around Issac.”

Melissa froze. “Oh god,” she said. “I must’ve scared the shit out of him.”

“Yeah…” said Scott. “He’s just… he’s…” How did he say this without saying things that Isaac didn’t want said?

Melissa nodded. “Yeah, sensitive,” she said. “I’ve noticed. I forgot. I’m sorry. I’ll go apologize,” she said, moving away.

But Scott didn’t let go of her hands. “Uh, maybe later?” he said. “When everyone’s calm again?” Melissa glanced at him uncertainly, and Scott shrugged. “He can probably hear you right now anyway. Let him calm down first. Let you calm down first.”

Melissa nodded. “Right,” she said. “Okay. I just…” She pulled her hands away from Scott’s and ran them through her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, taking another deep, shaking breath. “I just can’t… Not like this. Break ups happen. Jobs happen. Stuff… comes up. But _this_? Why do they always leave like _this_? Just leave everything out of nowhere and walk away someone else’s soldier?”

Scott stared at her, confused. “Mom… what happened to--?”

He was shocked when Melissa shoved a hand over his mouth. “No,” she interrupted. It sounded like an order, but her eyes were pleading. “Absolutely not. Now less than ever. They… they have taken _enough_ from me.”

Without any further explanation, Melissa moved away to retrieve the broom and dustpan.

\-- --

“An arm?” Tyler said.

The woman at the desk nodded. “As far as I can tell, no one died last night,” she said. “But this morning, we found an arm in 217, which is being renovated.”

“Arm as in…?” Tyler pointed to his own arm, and the woman nodded yet again. “And no one has… claimed it? Or anything?” She shook her her head. Tyler sighed and shrugged. “Alright, let’s see it.

The woman took him back behind the office to a storage area. She opened a freezer, and he glanced in. “That is, indeed, an arm,” he said. He pointed next to it. “And that’s food.”

She looked at him with confusion. “Yeah?”

“You put a severed arm where you food goes?” he said.

“Yeah?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. He reached forward and picked up the arm. It belonged to a black person. Kind of on the thin side, though there was plenty of muscle tone under the… what the hell kind of fabric was this? He moved up to the top of the arm, the point of severance. The fabric was incredibly frayed, not smoothly cut. There were thin strands of metal woven in it, though. Body armor. Who the hell wears skin-tight body armor? Defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?

And then he realized exactly the kind of person who would need their body armor to be skin tight. “Shit,” he hissed, trying to dig around in his pocket while still balancing the arm. “She’s going to kill me.”

From his pocket, Tyler pulled out a small, metallic rod. It was hexagonal in shape and dark-colored with red lights. He put the arm down on top of the freezer and jammed the rod against the palm of the hand. The arm was jolted by a bolt of electricity. When Tyler took the the rod away, the arm was covered in thousands of patches of fur, feathers, scales, exoskeleton, leathery hide, and every other skin type. “She’s gonna _super_ kill me,” Tyler groaned.

“The hell is that?” the woman asked peering over his shoulder.

“It’s about to be incinerated is what its,” he sneered at her.

“We don’t have an incinerator,” she told him.

“Do you have arson insurance?” he asked.

“I’ll find you a bin,” she said, wandering off.

“Thank you, dear.” He put the device away and pulled out his wallet. He began thumbing through the bills. He shouted after her, “I’m also going to need the info of everyone staying here last night. _And_ I need to see room 217.”

“It’ll cost you extra,” she croaked from the next room over.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, plucking out ten hundred dollar bills. “Anything else turn up in your lost and found?” he asked.

“Just a jacket,” she called back. “But it’s missing an arm. I doubt you want it.”

Tyler groaned and rubbed his temple.

\-- --

Scott got absolutely no sleep. He had laid there, in his bed, listening as Melissa cried herself to sleep. It wasn’t unexpected, but it made his heart ache. The fact that he could _also_ hear Isaac sniffling as quietly as could managed, made him sick to his stomach. Even after the house had gone quiet, he was still left tossing and turning as the sounds replayed themselves in his mind over a repeating track of self-blame.

Melissa slept late the next morning. Isaac had disappeared while Scott wasn’t looking and a quick text message established that he was with Boyd and Erica and not kidnapped by an evil druid. Scott hovered within hearing range until his mother finally got up, showered, and came down to the kitchen. She gave him a suspicious look when he “coincidentally” made too much of a lunch that consisted of breakfast foods and insisted that she eat the remainder because it “just isn’t the same left over.” In the end, however, she didn’t argue it.

Once he was finally convinced that she was relatively fine for being broken up with in the rudest way possible, he messaged Stiles to see if he was free, but Stiles quickly told him that he was at the library instead, which gave Scott an idea. He quickly texted Allison to see if she was free. When she was, he sent her his grandfather’s address.

\-- --

“Family history project?” Peter Alves repeated, squirming slightly. Allison pretended not to notice. “We, uh, we never really had anyone, like, important or anything.”

“Yeah,” Scott said quickly. “It’s, uh, more recent than that. I just need, like…” He squirmed.

Allison rolled her eyes at the family resemblance. “Look, what Scott’s too shy to say is that our teacher is demanding photos of the _whole_ family, and, for obvious reasons, his mom’s lacking in that department,” she explained, and Scott’s face began to heat.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, she…” He suddenly pulled away to check his phone, then swore under his breath. “Uh, look, this program just… well, that’s stuff’s in the basement. Think you can manage on your own?”

Scott nodded. “No, problem.”

Distractedly, Peter walked away, mumbling, “And I think Eva added some stuff, too, so there should be lots.”

Allison raised an eyebrow. “Wow, he is _really_ not good at the keeping secrets thing,” she said.

Scott shrugged. “Well, I didn’t notice for seventeen years,” he said. He motioned for her to follow him. “Come on, let’s see how much we can find before he checks in on us.”

\-- --

Tyler dropped by Harris’s place on his way back into town, only to find it surrounded by police tape and nosey neighbors. Hissing angrily, he sped on past. He had less than 36 hours left to prevent fugue, and he’d been counting on Harris handing over his now unneeded Kandrona supply.

\-- －

“Animorph?” said Scott.

“Yeah, that’s what Tyler said,” Allison told him.

“And you think he was talking about Cassie?” Scott asked.

“Well… she’s an animal morpher, and your mom isn’t,” said Allison. “It seems like that’s probably what it means.” She sighed and set down another stack of photos in her lap. “There are a _lot_ of pics of your mom and this other girl. You think this could be Rachel?” she asked, turning a photo toward him.

Scott glanced up. “No, that’s my dad,” he said.

“Oh!” said Allison, blushing.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Mom said he usually didn’t mind.” He set his box aside and reached for another, a long and narrow box on a nearby shelf. “But you’re sure you saw Harris leave?”

“He got in the cab and everything,” she insisted. She looked up when she heard a sharp intake of breath. Scott was staring at the box in his hands. She looked down and read, “Grave rubbings. Do you want me to…?”

“No, it’s okay,” he said. He removed the box lid and looked down at the first piece of paper. “Huh,” he said.

“Who is it?” Allison asked.

“I have no idea,” he said. “Someone named Nora Robinette?” He glanced over at her, but she just shook her head and shrugged, clueless. Carefully, he pulled the page up to look at the next rubbing in the box. “This says Eva Guerra.”

Allison blinked in surprise. “You think that might be the governor?”

“It says she died in 1988,” said Scott.

Allison shook her head. “Okay, but you don’t fake your death and then take on an even bigger, more noticeable position,” she said.

Scott groaned. “This is making my head hurt,” he complained. He flipped to the next page. Another name he didn’t recognize. Then another. “I had no idea my grandpa collected grave rubbings,” he muttered.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Allison said, reaching out to take one. “These lines are pretty sharp,” she pointed out. “Most people who collect grave rubbings are trying to preserve an historical marker. These would have come from new stones. I think he knew these people.”

“Why take rubbings when you can just vis--?” Scott paused. He felt sick. “Unless these graves are all in Los Siete Santos.”

“Imagine… having to leave your entire history behind,” she whispered. “And the only thing you can take of your family and friends is… grave rubbings.” She shook her head. “What on earth could have happened in that city?”

“Should we even be looking at this?” Scott asked, uncertain.

“I don’t know, Scott,” she said. “We need to know what the governor’s stakes are in this. And, at the very least, you deserve to know, don’t you? Where you came from? What happened to your father?”

“He died,” Scott said, suddenly. When Allison looked at him, he was holding out a form. “It’s a notification that my mother filed for death _in absentia_ for Marco.”

“You didn’t know?” Allison said.

Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. This… seems familiar. But… she always just said he left.”

“Well, _in absentia_ means there’s no actual evidence that he died,” said Allison. “He would have left. Disappeared.” She looked at the notice, then handed it back to Scott. “Maybe she doesn’t want to think about that. About all the things that could’ve happened. I mean, something like two thousand people go missing every day.” She blushed and looked down at the photos in her lap. “I should just stop talking now.”

“No, I think you’re probably right,” Scott said, putting the form back. “It just sucks thinking about how much pain everyone has gone through.” Flipping through more pages, he stopped again. “I think I found Rachel,” he said.


End file.
